


cry for judas

by meowrails



Series: hell, and you [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Come Shot, Derogatory Language, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Grinding, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Reunion Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved Emotional Tension, nasty old men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/pseuds/meowrails
Summary: Boyd comes over for an unwanted visit."You were always shit at picking locks."





	cry for judas

**Author's Note:**

> hello, guess i just can't stop thinking about these two.
> 
> if you're looking for domesticity and fluff, this is not the fic to read. ned has a lot of guilt and self-esteem issues that manifest in less than healthy ways. thankfully, boyd is there to help. kind of. not really. i guess you'll have to read and see.
> 
> title based on 'cry for judas' by the mountain goats
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated

Ned doesn't even have to try to unlock his door before he notices something is wrong.

Considering his former line of work, Ned knows the best way to protect a house from unwanted visitors. He used to do it every day when he first broke into Victoria's house, he even taught her what kinds of locks to buy and security alarms that actually work. Mostly out of paranoia, but also to help her stay safe from guys who break in that could be less lenient than him. Being in a quiet town like Kepler for so long has made him careless. Part of him wishes he’d taken up Victoria’s offer to learn how to use a shotgun, but he knows he would never have the guts.

Ned pushes the door open and turns on the light, inspecting the lock for a moment. Looks like someone tried very hard to pick it, got frustrated and punched the side of the door instead.

He sighs and sets his bag on the nearby sofa, closing the door behind him. “You were always shit at picking locks.” 

Boyd emerges from the hallway where he was hiding behind a wall. He looks calm, as if he expected to be caught, and maybe a little tired. He has a cigarette in his lips and arms crossed against his chest. Less welcoming and “friendly” than he was at the car dealership. 

“I was more of the muscle, yeah.” Boyd answers, not moving closer.

Ned doesn't bother and goes to the kitchen to get himself a beer. “That sounds like a thinly veiled threat, Mosche. Shit. Did you take all my beer?”

He looks at Boyd again, and watches him take a wobbly step. He's drunk. “Yeah, think I'm owed a couple of beers. Fuckin’ missed having a proper drink.” Boyd leaned against the wall, letting the ash of his cigarette fall on the floor. “Fix me a bit of brandy, would you?”

Ned slams the fridge shut. “Why the fuck are you here, Boyd?”

The taller man shrugs. “Motels here are shit and it's best if I don't stay at the lodge you're supposed to steal from for me. And I doubt I'll be allowed into any nice Bed and Breakfast considering...” He gestures at himself. Tall, built, tattooed and rough faced Boyd. “What better place to crash than at the wondrous Cryptonomica?” 

“Where's my shit, Boyd?”

“Somewhere safe, and hidden. Remember? You were good at picking pockets and locks but I was real good at hiding  _ anything _ , mate. Good luck trying to find it.”

Ned tries to come up with an idea of where it could be, but Boyd’s right. He isn't going to find his stuff unless he robs Mama. It could get him kicked out of the Pine Guard or worse, Aubrey would find out about everything. Boyd can go back to England and Ned will be hated by everyone he cares about. Again.

Boyd watches in silence as Ned makes himself a glass of brandy. He drinks it in front of him and takes the bottle with him to his bedroom. “The sofa sucks. I don't have a spare blanket.” He says. Ned slams the door behind him before he’s tempted to look back.

And he is. He wants to look at Boyd properly. He wants to talk to him like they used to for the first time in  _ three years. _ Ned sets the bottle on his nightstand and groans, loud enough that Boyd can hear. 

Fuck it. Let him stay. Let him inspect his house and steal some more shit. If he kicks Boyd out he'll just break back in. His life can't get any weirder and worse, right? 

Ned goes to sleep and tries to ignore the aching feeling in his chest he gets every time he thinks of his ex who's just twenty feet away. He wonders if Boyd feels the same.

 

\---

 

Boyd is waiting for him on the sofa. Or maybe he isn't waiting, he doesn't have to. Where else would Ned go? Ned stares at him from the door. Boyd is watching TV with a beer in his hand. 

“I thought you drank all my beer.” Ned says, gritting his teeth.

“Nope. I hid it. Have fun finding it. Don't worry, it's somewhere on the property.” Boyd doesn’t take his eyes away from the screen. 

“What happened to ‘going straight’?” 

Boyd snorts, “That courtesy don't extend to you. And we both know I could never go  _ completely  _ straight, right?” He gives Ned a grin that shows off his gold tooth. “Already had enough trouble with that in the clink.”

Ned hums in thought at the fact that there's no way Boyd didn't get the shit beat out of him at least once, but quickly remembers just how good Boyd is at beating the shit out of  _ other people _ . Ned was never good at fighting. He couldn't count the number of times Boyd came out with a swollen cheek, bloody knuckles, and a grin on his face just to defend him. The memory alone makes Ned feel a heat on the back of his neck, just as the sight used to do to him.

Ned sets his groceries on the table, only bothering to out the milk and cheese in the fridge but not caring about the rest at the moment. He grabs the beer from Boyd's hand and takes a sip before setting it back on the man's hand. “How  _ was _ prison, Boyd? Did you have to join a gang?”

Boyd watches him intently as he slowly drinks the rest of the beer. “Fuck no. Managed to avoid that. Just kept to myself and tried not cause any trouble. Boring, mostly. Once a guy saw my ink with your name on it and I had to say was the name of my dead brother.” 

Ned eyes Boyd's bicep and, sure enough, he can see his name peeking beneath the man's sleeve. His real first name, one he hasn't seen in a very, very long time, so rarely said that Boyd hasn't called him by it since the day he got the ink on his skin. Boyd watches him as he stares.

Ned looks away, hands held tightly together at his lap. He stares at the television without actually paying attention. 

“Dead brother, huh?”

“What? You wanted me to tell other fuckin’ inmates that you were my boyfriend? Don't think that would go too well, mate.”

“Yep.”

“Oh, so  _ now  _ you’re a man of few words?”

Ned looks down. “I don't actually give a shit about your time in prison, Boyd.”

Boyd studies him and gets up, throwing the empty glasses to the trash. He takes Ned’s cigarettes, his lighter, and might at well take everything in this house. “Selfish fuck.” 

Boyd walks out to the porch. The Boyd he knew three years ago would have thrown a bottle at the wall. He would have said nothing and let the guilt stew for days to weeks. This Boyd seems more honest and direct, he supposes. Right to the fucking chase. Which is great for a guy like Ned who would rather rip out his own eyes than talk about his feelings. 

Actually, he retracts that. His new line of work might actually make him come across a cryptid with a fondness for tired, human eyes.

Ned runs his hands down his face. Even thinking about the Pine Guard and the Lodge right now is enough to make him want to bash his head against a wall. And he still has his angry ex-boyfriend standing outside his door. Ned isn't afraid about Boyd becoming hostile or violent. He won’t hurt him. Well, not with his fists.

“Godamn it.” He says under his breath. Boyd doesn't turn to face Ned when he stomps out. Ned must look exhausted, he knows Boyd does.

“Mosche--”

“Are you gonna fuckin’ apologize, then?’

Ned presses his lips together.

Boyd huffs, “Thought so.” He takes a drag of cigarette. “Haven't changed a bit, Ned.”

“Yes, I have. I'm a businessman, I've made a name for myself in this town. I have people I care about now,  _ Mosche _ . I'm clean. Mostly.”

Boyd visibly clenches his jaw. “I asked around about you when I came. Sure, you got a name for yourself. It usually involves the word  _ weirdo  _ and  _ con-man.  _ Doesn't seem like much of a change.”

“At least I didn't go to prison.” 

Boyd looms over him slowly, walking forward so Ned has to take a step back until he's pressed against the door. The only bit of light is a flickering old bulb that shines behind Boyd's practiced, furious look on his eyes.

“No. You didn't. You didn't have to sit in a miserable fucking cell thinking about your ex at every moment you got that you didn't have to worry about getting shived.” Boyd rests his hand beside Ned's face, blowing smoke in his direction. 

Ned frowns, “Well, Mosche, did you come here prepared with a sharp end of a plastic toothbrush?” 

“No. I ain't gonna hurt you.” Boyd seems offended at the suggestion, but only briefly. 

“Then why the  _ fuck _ are you here, Boyd?!” Ned yells out, a bit too loudly.

“‘Cause you never came to  _ see _ me!” 

Ned looks up at Boyd, eyes wide and confused. Boyd is trying to manage the sadness in his face with fury, but there's one that's clearly winning.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Why didn't you contact me? Visit? Call? Even send a fucking letter? Three years, Ned. Three fucking years I spent in there only thinking about you, wondering when I was ever gonna see you again, wondering whether I was gonna kick the shit out of you or kiss you. Thought about doing both tonight. But look at us now.” Boyd shakes his head and looks down, almost pleading. “What we had... didn't it matter? What the fuck happened to  _ us _ ?”

Ned bites his lip. “It was too dangerous to try to do that, Boyd.”

“Since when does Ned Chicane care about  _ dangerous _ ?!” Boyd barks out. 

“It’s just three years! May I remind you that I was also stuck in this shit hole for three years!”

“Oh, my mistake. Poor Ned was stuck in a nice quiet town with a job and mates instead of a cell block with a bloke sleeping next to him charged with strangling three women and four men with his bare fuckin’ hands. I’m  _ so _ sorry, it must’ve been so hard for you.”

Ned scoffs, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a good fake ID in here? They’re terrible, they’re all made for underage drinking! I couldn’t have gone to see you even if I tried.”

“That’s the thing! That’s the fucking thing! You didn’t try. You would have rather I rot in there with our sins and you got out scot free. Did you even free guilty for one second, Ned? Or did you hide that behind your latest persona too? You utter cock. I thought about you every day. Did you spare one  _ fucking _ thought for me?”

For once in his life, Ned stays silent.

Boyd drops his head and looks down, both of his hands resting on either side of Ned's head, trapping him. Ned takes the cigarette from Boyd's mouth and smokes it himself as he waits for Boyd to compose himself. This might the first time he's been allowed to shed of some machoness since prison. He won't cry, neither of them ever do. They decided a long time ago they wouldn't cry for anyone ever again, not even each other. If any promise between them still remains, it's that one.

“I didn't go because I didn't think you'd want to see me.” Ned admits, a half-truth. There's also the part of him that was terrified that, if he saw Boyd, things between them would end completely. He'd move on and Ned wouldn't. Now three years have passed and they're both still here, still aching yet unable to speak. “You fucked up my life and I... well, vice versa.”

Boyd raises his head, face calmer but his eyebrows are still furrowed together. “Is this the closest you're gonna get to an apology, then?”

Ned opens his mouth to say something but grits his teeth instead. The cigarette falls from his lips, Boyd quickly steps on it and gives him another, lighting it before lighting his own. To anyone else, it would mean nothing, but it's a small symbol of intimacy he hasn't had with anyone in a long time. Ned’s hand shakes as he reaches to grab his cigarette after taking a drag. The nicotine calms him down, at least.

He stares at his hand, smoke drifting up between them. “The first year here was hell without you, Boyd. This town is so fucking small and monotonous and quiet. Ended up with a museum I don't know how to run or believe in. Well, until recently.”

Ned sees the edge of Boyd's lips curl. “You actually believe in that shit?”

“This town is also pretty strange.” He quickly changes the subject. “Kepler is my prison just as much as your old cell. I thought if I left the state I'd be caught and hauled away to god knows where. And you know we're both wanted in Ohio and Kentucky.”

Boyd laughs, the first real laugh since he arrived. “We were so close to getting that job done in Cleveland. Why the fuck didn't we know the owner of that house was a DA?”

“I told you to scope the scene!” Ned answers.

“And I told you to talk to the neighbors pretending we were buying a house!” Boyd smiles, despite himself. “You cheeky fuck. Why is it so hard for me to get angry at you?”

Ned shrugs, unsure because he's  _ also _ smiling, both because of sudden loss of tension and the fact that Boyd is smiling. At him. Just like old times. Ned wants to slap himself and force himself to get angry again just to prove his point, he doesn't want Boyd to win. 

And yet... it's the first time he’s seen Boyd smile at him in three years. The first time he's stood this close. When Boyd barged into the truck, he was so consumed by anger that he could barely see. Now he's calm. Boyd is smiling at him, still looking like the man he was so fond of so long even with the signs of age that adorn them both. He wasn't falling again, no. Ned doesn't think he ever reached the ground. It was more like opening a door he kept closed for so long. Looking at Boyd like this feels so habitual and familiar, they're bound together by the sins of their past. Sins of Ned's past. He wants Boyd to be angry at him again. He wants Boyd to kiss him until he's gasping for air. He wants Boyd to hurt him. He  _ needs _ Boyd to hurt him. He wishes he could make this sound virtuous.

“I can say the same.” Ned is painfully aware now that he's trapped between Boyd's arms. He's also painfully aware that anyone in a nearby house could watch him being pinned by a large, attractive man right on his porch. Kepler is nice, but it's still a small town in the middle of West Virginia. 

“Why don't we go back inside?” He asks, and gestures subtly to his right. Boyd turns his head and see the light shining from a window at a nearby house. He pulls back and opens the door, waiting for Ned back in his living room.

Ned’s breathing grows quicker. Is he really panicking? He curses himself for being so fucking predictable. The thought of Boyd alone would make him feel hollow. The sight of him does the total opposite. He looks at the sky before stomping the finished cigarette he was smoking. Boyd is right there, all Ned has to do is open the door. Ned knows what he wants, and knows how impulsive he can be. He shouldn't. It's been three years. He has to move on.

It took Ned three years to harden his heart. All Boyd had to do was smile and he falls for it. He always does. After every argument, after every bottle thrown against a wall, after every messed up con and robbery, after every black eye or broken bone from a civilian they didn't notice, he always falls. Ned doesn't know why.

Ned steps into his house and keeps his breath steady, not looking a Boyd.

Boyd looks at him, resting against a wall. There's a glint in his eye that makes Ned's blood freeze. Or boil. He isn't sure.

“You alright, mate?”

Ned shakes his head and walks to his room. “I’m tired. Old. I’m going to sleep.”

“You're not that old, Ned. Fifties ain’t that old anymore.” Boyd eyes him up and down. “I think you look rather good for your age.”

He can't.  _ He can’t.  _ How fucked up is it to want to sleep with the man he sent to jail? The man he hasn't seen in three years. The man who has his deepest secret inked to his  _ skin. _ And Boyd knows what he's doing, he always does He's a master hiding, at slipping through cracks and finding things that weren't supposed to be found. 

“Good night, Boyd.”

He doesn't have to look back to know Boyd is staring at him. With what expression  —  he can’t know.

“Night, Edmund.”

Ned grips on the doorknob before closing the door behind him.

He has no idea when he'll be able to do the heist. It would be stupid to stay at the very lodge he's trying to rob. Until then, he's trapped in the clutches of Boyd's gaze, Boyd's face, Boyd's... muscles. 

Ned holds his face in his hands and sighs. All he has to do is keep himself at arm's reach. He can do that. He has the self control. And he's fifty-two, damn it, not seventeen. He has bigger things to worry about.

Just for a few weeks. 

Ned “Off-Limits” Chicane.

 

\---

 

Ned lasts three days.

They pass normally, well, as normal as they can get. He tries to keep himself busy and away from his house fixing up his new truck. He hasn't been called back to the Lodge, either, as the two month mark hasn't really hit yet. Ned distracts himself with the comforting sight of a nicely purring engine, fixing up anything else surrounding it that might need a look and a clean up. He tries to convince himself that he's doing triple check ups and cleaning the inside of the truck more than usual because he cares, not because it gives him an excuse to stay outside.

Sometimes Boyd will come out and hand him a beer. He'll sit out on the porch and watch him, drinking a beer of his own. Ned knows why he's watching, he's been guilty of watching Boyd work on a car before, but that was back then. Back when he had the excuse and could ogle without any sort of shame. Boyd doesn’t ogle, just watches, the slightest smirk on his face. 

Eventually, he has to go back inside. Boyd  _ must _ know he's trying to be ignored. When Ned did come in, he would retreat himself to his bedroom. Boyd always offers him a drink and asks if he wants to watch something together. Ned declines, saying he's tired, which earns him a up-and-down look from Boyd, who takes the drink for himself with the ever constant  _ good night, Edmund.  _

Tonight, he says yes. 

Ned isn't sure how it starts. He remembers sharing a bottle of shit whiskey, sitting in front of the television watching something mindless. He remembers Boyd sitting besides him, smelling like his cologne instead of cigarettes. He remembers a hand drifting from Boyd's lap to his thigh. Ned didn't react, eyes forced on the screen while every other sense was focused on Boyd. 

Then the hand went higher and higher... now he's pinned beneath Boyd's taller, more muscular body, and they're kissing on the sofa like desperate teenagers. Ned’s eyes are closed and Boyd nips on his ear as he grinds against him. They're still fully clothed and painfully hard inside their jeans but he can almost  _ taste _ the still familiar feeling of Boyd's cock against him, a memory that could never fleed. Boyd’s large hands hold him tightly at his hips, keeping Ned steady and at his mercy.

“Have you fucked anyone since I've been gone?” Boyd asks, voice steady while Ned finds himself struggling to speak without gasping.

“I'm trying to maintain a... ah, decent reputation. Hard to find single men our age in this fucking town without - oh, getting scared of someone pulling a shotgun on me.” 

Boyd tsks, “Excuses as always, Ned. It's lovely to see you've been waiting for me. At least you have some loyalty left, even if it's reserved for my cock.”

Ned feels Boyd's hands reach for his belt and he allows it. He told himself he would have some more composure than this. Ned spreads his legs on instict as much as the sofa allows him. “Boyd...”

“I saw you blushing when I called myself a  _ good boy _ back at the dealer, Ned.” Boyd teases as he slowly unzips Ned's jeans, lowering them just enough to look at his hardening, covered cock. “You like that, you dirty old fuck? Like it when I call myself a good boy? You miss me being your good boy?”

Ned grits his teeth and tries to calm himself down, but each syllable that escapes Boyd's lips feels like a breach on his defenses. “I... Damn it. Yes.”

“Pervert. How much did you touch yourself pretending this was happening?”

_ Almost every night.  _ He stops himself before he blurts out the truth, but the fantasy always was that Boyd broke out of jail to find him and fuck him like he was about to get arrested again. Ned whines, “Boyd--”

“God, this feels like we're back of the Lincoln again. Remember how good I use to fuck you in it? Against it? I'm gutted to see it gone. But if I can fuck you in the back of a car, I can fuck you here just alright.”

“What... What makes you think you'll have me here?” Ned gasps.

Boyd lowers his briefs and holds his cock, stroking it with practiced ease. Ned bucks his hips at the touch. “Look at yourself. I saw the look on your eyes, baby. You want me so badly. That's why you’re whining under me like a cheap whore. Poor Ned, deprived of a good lay. You were always so  _ easy _ .”

Ned bites his bottom lip, feeling his entire body heat up with each humiliating word. Boyd knows him so well, perhaps too well. 

Even still, with his cock in another man's hand, Ned refuses to admit how badly he wants this. He watches in feigned disinterest as Boyd undoes his own belt and pants to free his cock. 

But Ned can't control instant reactions, and he instantly lets out a sharp breath at the sight and licks his lips. Boyds smirks, like a predator who just caught him prey, and lowers himself to kiss Ned and grind against him once more. Boyd's right, it's been so long, and Ned lets this man kiss him and use him as he pleases because he  _ needs  _ it. 

Just like old times.

Ned moans against Boyd's mouth as he reaches down to stroke both of them, the size of Boyd's cock along with his own barely fitting into his grip. The amount of pre-cum makes each movement so easy, so wonderfully familiar. He can feel how hard Boyd is too. His breathing is ragged, held behind gritted teeth. Despite everything, it's still not enough. 

Boyd grabs at the sofa's armrest behind Ned's head and uses it to steady himself as he thrusts against him. Ned uses the opportunity to slip his hand under Boyd's shirt to feel smooth skin and muscle straining at each movement. His eyes lazily glide to Boyd's arms, the pair of strong hands right above him. Ned gets a dozen memories he only kept for special occasions and moans at the very thought.

“Boyd, fuck-- Can you... Can you--” Ned asks, eyes fluttering shut as Boyd's larger cock slides against his own. Boyd looks at him, confused, but at the sight of Ned leaning his head to the side, showing off his neck, Boyd smirks.

“Yes _ yesyesyes _ .” Boyd hisses, and pulls down Ned’s pants and underwear down to one of his ankles. A hand moves up his shirt and Ned takes the queue to take it off. Boyd is still fully clothed, somehow that makes his whole scenery even dirtier. A hand settles a his neck without warning. Ned leans his head back to allow him more access. “You fucking slut. Three years and the first time I touch you you're turned into this. How would Kepler react? Seeing such a  _ respectable _ member of their community like this?” 

Ned needs to have the last word, but the gentle press of a thumb right above his adam's apple cuts him off and instead forces out an open mouth moan. Boyd knows exactly how to do this. Ned can still breathe, but the allure of danger just makes his eyes widen and his body beg for more. Boyd seems to be enjoying himself just as much, stroking himself and leaving Ned's cock ignored as he watches Ned pitifully have to please himself with a hand around his throat. Ned closes his eyes as he pumps his cock, embarrassed and definitely blushing all over. “Jeez, Boyd--”

“That's it. That's it. Want more?”

“Y-Yes.”

Ned's hand moves quicker, desperate to cum. Boyd leaves his cock alone for a moment and uses his other hand to cover Ned's mouth and nose. There's a wicked grin on him that has Ned's heart beating like just saw another cryptid. Ned’s whimpers comes out muffled but he can't makes them stop. Boyd doesn't even has to say anything, he just watches as each second goes by where Ned can't breathe. 

Ned bucks his hips into his grip, a muffled  _ oh god, oh fuck _ causing him to struggle to breathe even more. His arches his back and his eyes fall shut, but Boyd doesn't move an inch. Ned whimpers, feeling like an desperate idiot. 

“I could kill you like this,” Boyd whispers. “It'd be so easy.”

Ned cums all over his chest and thighs with a gasp, no doubt staining his sofa. He gasps as Boyd moves away his hands, still smiling. Ned is breathing heavily, his own hands still on his cock, eyes half-lidded and unfocused from his haze. 

Boyd straddles his chest, one hand balancing himself on the armrest again, and strokes himself over Ned’s body. Ned doesn't do anything, just looks up as he's still trying to regain his breath. It doesn't take long for Boyd to cum too. Ned manages to close his eyes before it lands on his face. Great, he going to have to clean his beard. And hair. He should have came somewhere else that wouldn't make such a mess, Ned thinks rather wistfully.

“Christ, you're even more fucked up than I expected you to be. The hell has this town done to you?” Boyd asks, getting off the sofa to settle his cock back into his jeans. 

Ned groans and sits up. He looks down at himself, all body hair and pudge and covered in cum. His head still feels heavy.

Boyd leans down and kisses him on the forehead, stroking his hair back. “My turn on the bed tonight, I think. Good night, Edmund.” 

Ned barely registers what Boyd said until he hears his bedroom door close. That motherfucker.

He reaches up to feel at his neck. He doubts Boyd left bruises, but the sensation of his touch remains. 

Next time, Ned wants it to leave bruises.

Ned looks around him at an empty living room, the television still turned on as if nothing happened. As if Ned didn't just have the best orgasm he's had in three years from his ex-boyfriend who's on parole. As if Ned didn't just beg to be choked and used, cumming from the mere thought of Boyd going further.

He wants it again. Like an addict falling back into bad habits, and Ned is nothing if not impulsive. Boyd touched him so effortlessly, like he never left in the first place. Ned wants to ignore him. He knows it won't work.

Ned “Easy” Chicane.

He needs a shower. 

 

\---

 

They don't talk about it.

He expected Boyd to tease him with full force the next morning. Or at the very least reference it enough for Ned to feel even more shame and conflict within himself. Except the brit stays silent, greeting him with a normal smile and a cup of shitty instant coffee already made just for him. 

Maybe it's because Boyd doesn't want to talk about it, either.

Perhaps it's also the fact that yesterday, after his shower, Ned opened the door to his bedroom to the sight of an already asleep Boyd. He collapsed his exhausted, mostly naked body beside him. Ned curled to his side, just waiting for Boyd to say something about him trying to sleep on his own bed. He's already allowing Boyd to stay out of the kindness of his heart and the needs of his dick. It's still  _ his _ bed, Boyd will just have to settle for sharing. 

Boyd says nothing. Instead, Ned feels an arm wrap around his chest and pull him closer. Boyd's heart beats against his back. He feels the steady breath of Boyd's nose to the curve of his neck. Ned falls asleep immediately, soothed by a warmth he denied he missed.

Just like old times.

**Author's Note:**

> this might be a series! i have an idea for a second fic but i might wait until the next episode of this arc to see what happens. or i'll just make it canon divergent, lol. we'll see!


End file.
